


Say a word, do it soon It's too quiet in this room

by feralpixiedreamgirl



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abusive Relationships, M/M, One-Shot, Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak if ya squint, Unhealthy Relationships, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralpixiedreamgirl/pseuds/feralpixiedreamgirl
Summary: Richie and Patrick are ..something.
Relationships: Patrick Hockstetter/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	Say a word, do it soon It's too quiet in this room

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to fill a prompt in my inbox but then i kind of lost my way >.< ..but i might built on this and get to that rape-fantasy-consensual non-consent-idea i started off with, i don't know :)

So, they had already been in a relationship for a few weeks. Well, i say “relationship” but neither of them would ever call it that. When Bill had pulled Richie aside that one day after witnessing Patrick press Richie against his locker in the empty school hallway, asking, no, demanding to know what the fuck was going on, Richie had mostly just rolled his eyes while gripping his jeans with sweaty palms. He skipped the “I don’t know what you are talking about” he had gathered his breath for and instead immediately went for the “I don’t know.” And even though Big Bill obviously wasn’t happy with that answer, as far as Richie was concerned, it still was the truth.

All Richie knew was that he liked the way Patrick looked at him. Like Patrick was predator and Richie was prey. Like Patrick had decided that in this disgusting sewer of a town Richie might not exactly be worth anything but was at least interesting. And when Patrick had stopped just staring and had started shoving, gripping, scratching, Richie had, well, grabbed back and simply not let go.

While Patrick’s hold had gotten less bruising over time the bruises still had never stopped. And so Richie counted them, every night, before he went to sleep. One on his collar bone, still a dark blue, where Patrick had shoved him against the wall of the bathroom stall just this morning. Two, three, four, on his left wrist, formed by Patrick’s forefinger, middle finger and ring finger respectively. Five, already yellow, on the inside of his right thigh, from when Patrick had used his knee to push his legs apart. Six, on the outside of his right leg from when Richie had gripped himself too hard to keep from screaming. But he couldn’t remember what that had been about.

He didn’t tell anyone. Not about the marks on his skin nor the dreams he woke up from wet, covered in sweat and clammy on the inside of his boxers.

He knew his friends had started to worry. He was aware of the hushed conversations that stopped when he entered the room. The wrinkle that formed on Eddie’s forehead whenever he was watching Richie and didn’t think Richie was watching in turn. The one that Richie would have loved to press his fingers against to smooth out.

But still he couldn’t help the way his heart beat picked up while he watched the clock tick, tick, ticking down the seconds till the school bell rang, because he knew Patrick was waiting for him, casually leaning against the door of the janitor’s closet, the graffitied wall next to the fire exit, the bricks that led around from the back door to the bicycle rack.

They never talked. Instead they conversed in looks (shared) or through the impressions on skin (Richie’s) or referencing the crescent markings of finger nails (Patrick’s). So when Richie’s parents went out to some fancy dinner on their anniversary Richie couldn’t exactly remember telling Patrick that it would be save for him to come around but he still wasn’t surprised when Patrick climbed through his bedroom window just after the sun had gone down. With his head laying on Richie’s chest, Richie’s heart again beating fast like no one had told it about the nightly visitor in advance, Patrick speculated in a low voice that there was a bird trapped behind Richie’s rib cage. The older boy’s weight pushed him down on the mattress, the ash-grey ceiling above him, and he felt like he could feel feather’s moving against his skeleton, sharp claws gripping his arteries.

**Author's Note:**

> come scream at me on [tumblr](http://feral-pixiedreamgirl.tumblr.com)


End file.
